L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

“…gone too far…”

“…said to take this road…”

“…didn’t say to drive into the center of town…way past the keep…”

“…what you expect…couldn’t find his way to battle without two guides…”

“Better where we are…highlanders less than ten kays from the harbor…”

“…closer by now…”

“Captain said to stay out of town.”

“…what does he know? Except about women…”

“…girls…too young to know real women…”

Kharl just waited, standing against the alleyway wall, as the wagon rumbled past, down toward the harbor. Then, he stepped out and continued, following it at a distance.

The wagon with the wounded had disappeared by the time Kharl reached the edge of the harbor, and the harbor avenue was totally deserted as he walked back toward the pier, so quiet that his boots echoed. The only other sounds were the low buzzing of insects and the lapping of wavelets on the harbor wall.

Rhylla was on the quarterdeck when Kharl made his way up the gangway.

“Good to see you back. Captain called in everyone. Only missing a few.”

“Are we going to leave?” Kharl glanced around, but the decks were empty. “Where is he?”

“He didn’t say. He’s off again. Left orders with the first.” Rhylla looked more directly at Kharl. “You know something?”

“The fighting’s getting close to Dykaru. Wagonload of wounded passed me on the way back to the ship.”

“Doesn’t look good,” she observed.

Kharl could only agree with that, and he wished he knew what orders Hagen had left with Furwyl, but he wasn’t about to ask. Furwyl wouldn’t have told him, anyway.

Kharl was aware of a murmuring around the forecastle, even before he slowly swung out of his bunk on sevenday morning. He didn’t pay much attention until he was on his feet and dressing.

“…first says there’s warships off the harbor…black-hulled ships…”

“…lots of ’em…”

“…black…isn’t that Recluce?” asked Kawelt.

“Hamor,” said Kharl. “Recluce doesn’t send its ships in fleets, and they’re usually invisible.”

“Frig…” muttered Reisl. “Means we’re stuck here, maybe even get shelled or boarded.”

“Or worse,” added Hodal.

“Unless we get a storm. Then they’d have to stand off,” Reisl said. “There are some clouds to the east.”

“You’re dreaming,” Hodal said.

“Hoping…fellow can hope…”

“Good luck with that…”

Kharl agreed with Hodal. Hope was a frail reed against sheer power. The carpenter did not say so, but washed up as well as he could, dressed, and made his way out onto the main deck.

He looked south from there, but didn’t see anything. After several moments, he crossed the main deck and climbed the ladder to the poop, where he stood on the port side, looking south and out across the Great Western Ocean. Just on the horizon, he could make out black dots, hard to distinguish against the gray-blue of the water and the grayish sky, although there were no distinct clouds, just enough of a haze to blur the sun and the horizon. There was a light wind from the southeast, slightly more than a breeze.

“Looking to see them?” asked Furwyl, as he reached the top of the ladder and walked toward Kharl. “It’s there-full Hamorian squadron. Ten ships. Not a fleet, but enough that we’ll be staying here, leastwise in the light of day. They were closer in, earlier, but the sea’s getting rougher. Wouldn’t be surprised if we got a bit of a blow.”

“That would make it easier for us to get around them, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. That’d be if the captain were thinking of leaving.”

“Is he taking over command of Lord Ghrant’s forces?”

Furwyl laughed. “Too late for that. Lord Ghrant should have let him reorganize ’em when he suggested that years ago. Ghrant doesn’t like to upset people. Weighs things, I hear, by who’s upset. Sometimes, to do things right, you have to upset a lot of folk at first. Less people upset over time, but…” The first shrugged. “Like a ship. Lay down the law fair and firm-like to begin with, and hold to it, and you get a happy ship. You tack to every little change in the wind, never get anywhere.”

Kharl had to wonder. Hadn’t he tried that in life? And where had it gotten him? Run out of his homeland, his consort killed, his sons hating him, and his neighbor and friend assassinated. “That’s if you have the power to lay down the law. The captain didn’t, and Lord Ghrant did, but Lord Ghrant didn’t do anything.”

“Goes without saying, carpenter. Can’t do much without both ability and power. Ability can sometimes get you power, but without power, ability’s wasted, and that can lead to ruin. Power and no skill leads you to ruin. Just takes longer. That’s all.”

“You don’t think Lord Ghrant has much ability?”

“Couldn’t be saying that, now, could I?” Furwyl laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. “He could learn, if he would but listen.”

“And Ilteron?”

“He seems to listen to all, and offers pleasant words. He heeds none, and uses and discards all.” The contempt in Furwyl’s voice was in stark contrast to the more muted words about Lord Ghrant.

Kharl walked to the stern, by the port rudder post, thinking, considering what little he knew. Ilteron had to have ridden south to attack Dykaru before Ghrant had decided to retreat there. Likewise, the Hamorian ships had to have set out from Hamor even before Ghrant had left Valmurl. How did they know? Lands and lords didn’t stake ships and battles and moving lancers and troops just on guesses about where the enemy would be. They had known. But how? Spying? Wizardry? What sort of wizardry allowed them to see across vast distances and know what would happen?

He looked up and forward. Furwyl had left the poop.

Kharl made his way down to the mess. Most of the crew had eaten, but Kharl managed to scrounge enough bread, and some cheese, and a soft pearapple, as well as a mug of redberry. He sat down across from Hodal and Kawelt, who were finishing up what looked like fried and salted pork. Kharl didn’t miss not having the pork.

“You see the ships?” asked Hodal.

“They’ve moved farther offshore, the first said,” replied Kharl after swallowing a mouthful of bread and cheese. “He thinks a storm’s in the offing.”

“Told you so.”

“Captain’ll wait till it’s just right, and then we’ll be off…”

“…knows what he’s doing. That’s why no shore leave.”

Kharl had no doubts that Hagen knew what he was doing, but he was far less sure that those actions included leaving Dykaru while the future of Austra was yet in doubt.

“…should have gotten here earlier. Cook had fresh eggs…”

“…should have…” Kharl mumbled, his mouth full.

After eating, and the morning in-port muster on the main deck, Kharl made his way down to the carpenter shop. His eyes lifted to the overhead bin, and the staff, and the words of The Basis of Order came back to him…the idea that a mage could not fully master his abilities until he cast aside the staff…and the passage after that…where the words talked about how dividing power weakened it more than just in half…

“Carpenter?”

Kharl looked at the hatchway, where Dasket, a rigger he hardly knew, stood. “Yes?”

“Captain needs you, ser. Right this moment. He’s in his cabin.”

“Thank you. I’m on my way.” Kharl had thought that Hagen was ashore, but perhaps the captain had already returned.

Dasket hesitated, then turned.

Kharl followed him out and up the ladder to the main deck. From there, Kharl crossed the deck and entered the passageway he had once guarded, noting that the lamp bracket remained but the watch bell had been removed. He knocked on the door to the captain’s cabin. “Kharl, ser.”